


Contract Clauses

by setosdarkness



Series: OTP Collection - IwaOi [17]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Kuroshitsuji AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 03:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6266962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setosdarkness/pseuds/setosdarkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuroshitsuji AU.</p><p>The continent is a powerful mass moving along in a waltz towards impending doom, starting when a certain person from the concrete, Hinata Shoyou, sells his soul to a genius-level demon.</p><p>(ft. drug lord Kuroo & his kitten-cosplay bodyguard Kenma; genius swordsman Bokuto & his impassive sidekick; Shinigami partners Iwaizumi & Oikawa)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contract Clauses

* * *

Kuroo Tetsurou smiles as always, like he’s won first prize. Most of the time though, he’s the only contestant, but such a boring competition isn’t off-putting to him. It is quite difficult to set up shop here, so far away from his hometown of silk and cotton, but he’s crawled and slithered and scratched his way to the top of this heap of society’s garbage.

He’s at the top nevertheless.

“Come, now, I’m sure this is a very good deal for you, no?”

He rubs his hands together in a show of anticipation of a good deal, smiling even wider as poor Yamaguchi-kun swallows his fear and apprehension with difficulty.

He _likes_ this kid, hardworking and earnest and so unlike everything else in this society that spins madly around in a waltz towards impending doom, so he doesn’t drive the price of their bargain too high up. He _likes_ watching the scowl flirt upon Tsukki’s stuck-up face and rigid posture, but he’d rather not do it on Yamaguchi’s expense.

There are other ways he can make up for the money he could have earned if he pushed a little harder.

A lot of other ways, in fact.

“T-T-Thank you for your business,” Yamaguchi ends up stuttering out, foregoing the gentlemanly handshake and going straight for a humbling bow. The freckled young officer nearly trips over his own feet and his mud-streaked boots, but he thankfully doesn’t make a scene fleeing from his den.

He imagines dear Tsukki’s face crumbling in disgust the moment he _smells_ the cloying scent of drugs on Yamaguchi’s shirt and skin. He imagines that disgust war with pride over how the junior officer managed to get his hands on such valuable information, in the expense of his own safety.

“You’re creepy, Kuro.”

Ah.

“You’re hurting my feelings, kitten.” Kuroo’s smiling though - isn’t he always? - as he relaxes even further in the wide bed-couch hybrid he had requested to be expressly made. He parts his legs while he half-leans, half-collapses against the left arm of the couch, his posture the very picture of hedonistic indulgence.

Most of his workers are on different areas of the den - this is his special room where he meets personally with his special guests, after all. And despite building a reputation of being one of the main informants of the Earl of the Underground, along with the one single-handedly maintaining and lording over the drugs and information network of this continent, he has no bodyguards whatsoever.

Well.

Except for one.

But really, his kitten is too cute and precious to be called a mere bodyguard.

“Hmm,” Kenma settles into his lap, not needing another invitation. Like an overgrown cat, he nearly slides into place as he cuddles easily against Kuroo’s chest, his petite legs intertwining with Kuroo’s own.

“You’re wearing something new,” Kuroo murmurs in wonder, running his fingers up and down the silk barely covering pale thighs, eyes half-closed in bliss. The other half of his relaxed countenance is due to the heady scent of opium, smoke blown in seductive rings from every part of his self-made cage. “Where did you get this?”

“Hmm,” Kenma mumbles as a reply, pressing his right cheek against Kuroo’s steady heartbeat. Even with the winter chill, Kenma’s kept reasonably warm as long as he’s enveloped in Kuroo’s arms that have brought crates and crates of illegal substances across oceans, touched by Kuroo’s hands that have weighed and bartered lives against clinking silver. “Got it from one of the deliveries.”

Kuroo chuckles, muffling his voice on Kenma’s hair. He keeps stroking the silk skirt, but his hands wander on their own, fingers teasing the sliver of skin between the ends of the skirt and the equally silken stockings. There’s something impossibly arousing about the fact that his smaller companion capable of crushing his jokes as well as his enemies wearing things to his liking.

“You’re so naughty, kitten.”

“Shut up, Kuro.”

But Kenma stays cuddled to him anyway.

 

* * *

 

“They really are a pain in the ass.”

“Aw, come on, Akaashi! It’s fine! It’s _fun_!”

“We’re not here to have fun, Bokuto-san.”

“Ah, and I keep telling you to call me Koutarou, but you never do!”

“Stop pouting and be quiet, please.”

“I’m not pouting!”

“Yes, you are.”

“Am not!”

“...alright, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto Koutarou isn’t pouting at all and he’s glad Akaashi finally gets it, but there’s a niggling feeling that Akaashi just agreed for the sake of doing so. He doesn’t like it, because Akaashi is stubborn ninety-nine percent of the time and Akaashi should fight for what he believes in and Akaashi is too good to just bow down to him and Akaashi never listens to him but he does, he really does and Akaashi—

“—Bokutan-san, stop spacing out.”

“I wasn’t!” Bokuto waves his hands around, his right hand easily balancing and twirling his rapier. “I was just thinking how cool you are, Akaashi!”

“...I see. Please focus on our task, Bokuto-san.”

“I am! But it’s kinda boring right now, because Hinata’s all mopey and sad.”

“ _Pretending_ to be mopey and sad.”

Akaashi elegantly ducks from Bokuto’s attacks, unwavering since the start. There’s something legitimately awe-inspiring and annoying about how airheaded Bokuto can get, but still remain focused when it comes to his swordfighting skills. It’s almost unreal, how naturally talented and versatile he is when it comes to handling a sword.

There was even one time when he was asleep and drooling but his hands were still able to draw his oriental short-sword and incapacitate an approaching pickpocket.

And he doesn’t even _see_ how valuable he is, choosing instead to praise Akaashi.

Unbelievable.

“Pretending to be mopey and sad,” Bokuto agrees as he watches the young master of the continent’s underground network walk around his mansion dazedly upon the wake of his butler’s passing. “Bet he’s mostly sad because he can’t laugh at his butler’s not-so-dead face without blowing his cover.”

Akaashi frowns at that topic.

“I’m very sure I had stabbed through Kageyama’s liver.”

“I’m sure you did, Akaashi! You did well!” Bokuto’s quick to reassure his partner. “We should find out what kind of sorcery Hinata used to make such an outstanding butler!”

Bokuto talks about sorcery and witchcraft without batting an eye, slices ribbons across guts and flesh, but he’s impossibly scared by creaks in wooden stairs and dimmed hallways.

Absolutely unbelievable.

“We shouldn’t forget our main mission, Bokuto-san.”

Because above all else, even if they’re heirs to the continent’s wealthier families, even if Bokuto himself is an heir to a very esteemed lineage, they’re the Queen’s right-hand men, first and foremost.

Framing some upstart, from some upstart foreign country who thinks they can match the continent’s overwhelming power, in order to deliberately crush him and sweep him away to join dust in graveyards - that’s the task for the two of them.

But of course, if they can discover the truth about that supernaturally gifted butler, as well as cause some havoc in that little child’s little mansion of lies - well.

That just makes things worth it.

 

* * *

 

“Iwa-chan, you’re making me swoon!”

“I’ll hit you hard enough to make you faint,” Iwaizumi threatens, deadly serious.

It’s too bad that the person he’s dealing with is in a world of his own, twirling about with outstretched hands, his book of judgement in his left, his illegally-modified-chainsaw in his right. Despite the glasses especially commissioned so they’ll have perfect eyesight suited for reading through names, life stories and judgements, Oikawa slacks off and doesn’t bother with reading through the details of the souls he reap without abandon.

“Will you nurse me to health if that happens?” Oikawa asks seriously, stopping mid-spin so he’s face to face with his partner reaper.

Iwaizumi sighs heavily and wonders when will his request to be reassigned to another partner be approved. He’ll even gladly take on the freaky combination of Hanamaki and Matsukawa, because flirty and punny they may be, at least they don’t climb onto his bed. Or onto his leg. Or onto his torso.

“Can you just _please_ do your job?”

Oikawa’s eyes practically twinkles. “You said _please_! Iwa-chan, say it again, wait, lemme get my phone, ok, got it, Iwa-chan, go, say it!”

Iwaizumi tunes out the freakshow that is his assigned partner.

In a way, he almost wishes - not for the first or hundredth time - that he didn’t do so well during the Shinigami Academy Training. That way, he wouldn’t be paired up with this guy.

Apparently, Oikawa Tooru is the Shinigami with the highest score in the past three hundred years, only rivaled by that certain genius legendary reaper that had long passed on. And Iwaizumi’s the next best thing, despite falling at least 10% behind the final scores.

And then here Oikawa Tooru is, spinning around and around in some sort of demented waltz, his definitely-out-of-uniform-guidelines-boots thrown haphazardly away, his rainbow-striped socks painted with the blood of the souls he’s reaping without a care for their pasts, regrets, _potential_.

Breaking possibly all the rules printed in the 1000-page Shinigami handbook, there he is, their supposed top-scorer, ideal Shinigami.

And Iwaizumi huffs because it’s so annoying to be paired with this guy who managed to fool those stuck-up asses and blind bats up in Management.

“You’re no fun, Iwa-chan!”

“We’re not here to have fun. We’re supposed to judge and reap these souls.”

“But I’m allllll done~~~~”

Of course he’s done. He didn’t even blink at the list of names to be judged.

“Of course you’re done.”

Iwaizumi didn’t meant to let that slip. He’s _professional_ , damn it.

“Stacey, Doll and Robert have very normal souls. Sad backstories, but still pretty normal. James Reed’s a creep, so no. Liza’s screwed over too many customers so she’s out too. Jamie’s too sweet and too pure, but hey, that’s the usual sob story. Mike, Peter and Tom are just plain old streetchildren who steal from the wealthy nobles that pass by. Hmm, who else~~~”

Iwaizumi knows without even checking the book on Oikawa’s hand - something that he’s sure Oikawa’s never glanced at ever since they had met up near the gate connecting their realm to this filthy human-infested place - that the names and stories all match up to Oikawa’s assignments.

He’s not sure how he does it, but Oikawa knows _all_ of them just like that.

It’s _frustrating_.

“Hey, did I make Iwa-chan’s heart go _doki_ just now?”

“Shut the fuck up, trashkawa.”

Because... Shinigami don’t have hearts, do they?

A thumping sensation is his mere reply.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm terrible. I should be updating any one of my older IwaOis/BokuAka/JuHaku fics, but what do I do? Fall back to Kuroshitsuji hell and merge it with Haikyuu. *cry*
> 
> • Charles Grey/Charles Phipps for BokuAka, because Bokuto and Charles Grey have the same seiyuu lol
> 
> • Lau/Ran-Mao as KuroKen, because KITTIES!!!
> 
> • Grell/William as IwaOi, because flamboyant serial killer Oikawa. 
> 
> (tagging as complete, but might add some other chapters if I end up thinking of other drabbles in the verse)


End file.
